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Ailinn
Windchimer

2073 Posts

Posted - 07/30/2019 :  16:37:28  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Tumbled granite boulders. Stone pillows beyond shuttered windows. The long dirt road leaping with light. Fragrant lime and flaming bougainvillea. Chimes in the arches. The widow's tall iron candlesticks and hand-hemmed napkins on the table. Faint vihuela in the trees. Border songs.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2073 Posts

Posted - 07/30/2019 :  16:41:38  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"Well...?" he says. The shock of him. Fissured ground. Fault line shivering when she pushes the stack of chips toward him. Her sunburned hands close to flashpoint. Somewhere water is moving. Far away. Never enough. The Sailor and the Mute Fortune Teller burning the house down in Mexico.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2784 Posts

Posted - 08/03/2019 :  04:40:27  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I have marveled at her quiet strength and dignity
and the way she has suffered at the hands of men
Yet has not lost her love for all men.

I have marveled at how she has met all
That she feared and in so doing has nothing left
To fear.

I have marveled at one that appears so empty and aching
Herself yet can find a wellspring to give others to drink.

I have marveled at how from any place
in the world, she can appear to
Warm my cold room.

I have marveled that The Gods
Continue to remind me how
Wonderful a woman and women can be.

I have marveled at her quiet strength and dignity.

She needs everything and everyone
and yet needs nothing.




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Ailinn
Windchimer

2073 Posts

Posted - 08/06/2019 :  19:33:53  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"I know everything about you," he says. And he does. But he keeps asking questions. Tipped back in his gravity-defying chair, he waits. "...late lunch on the Library steps in the presence of lions," she says. "Snow dazzle. Magic in Macy's windows. Wreaths and Salvation Army kettles. Bells in the street. Christmas trees on heaven-high penthouse balconies. Central Art's inks and calligraphy pens..." "Keep talkin'," he says when the kettle whistles. "A diet of pretzels and lemon meringue pie. Schrafft's some Saturday afternoons. Felt strips to snug drafty windows. Two chain locks for the door. Free to choose my own danger," she laughs, and hands him his tea.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2784 Posts

Posted - 08/08/2019 :  04:14:39  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
So much evil, So many demons

I told her that I saw the first one
in a cave in Southern Utah,
but I was still young enough
not to recognize it.

The second time,
after I had visited Hell
a time or two, it was easier to
spot on that beach in Big Sur;
dead on-in-your-face
gut-wrenching-stench-of-death evil,
more familiar, almost attractive
in it's own special form of disguise.

The third time, it snuck up slow
and stayed awhile; years,
slipping in, growing strong,
taking charge and taking hold.

It didn't matter much to me by then,
I was skating the fine line
back and forth from
drunk to addict to working man.
I hadn't planned to be here that long anyway,
but it affected everybody that I loved
and loved me.

There won't be a next time for me.

Promise.
For today.

So much evil, So many demons.

Don't try to figure it or them out or negotiate with it;
just understand it, know it will be there as long as good is
and then move forward and stand tall with all the strength
you can muster.

Find the place in you that is locked by Grace
and make a stand.



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Ailinn
Windchimer

2073 Posts

Posted - 08/09/2019 :  17:08:05  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The shore empty except for a few early morning regulars. The frail couple in beach chairs near the water's edge. (Faithfully there again at sunset.) The optimist with his checkered pillowcase-sack. Head bent over his metal detector plying the sand for treasure. You take your coffee on the deck to watch him. His wide wave when you raise your cup in salute. The summer is waning. The sea tilting. Travelers heading for Interstate 5. Blanket after labor Day across your shoulders. Perfect seasons in old photographs.

Edited by - Ailinn on 08/10/2019 09:15:32
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2073 Posts

Posted - 08/09/2019 :  17:17:33  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"Hearts seem to be your suit..." he says, and he breaks the seal on a new deck. "Anything you wanna tell me...?" "Your deal," she says in a white room at the foam's edge where the track curves and the light flares on water. Where he changes her name every midnight. Where snow falls on the bureau in a souvenir globe and the couple inside are dancing.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2784 Posts

Posted - 08/13/2019 :  18:41:02  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

So it's one more fall
I get to see come around.
World I've seen every move
You could possibly lay down
You shake your hips and
You bat your eyes
Your dress riding up
Those sweet little thighs

This time it's different
You won't turn me around,
While you weren't looking
I came back to the ground
Water so high I floated on down
The rain kept falling but
There was that one rock I found

I talk to the spirits inside me
Sometimes I watch for their signs
Still more questions than answers
But minutes at a time can be divine

Another fall is precious
Just what we need right now
A world living in fear and panic
Needs colors and a chill to take a bow
Girl, I've seen every move
You could possibly lay down
You shake your hips and
You bat your eyes
Your dress riding up
Those sweet little thighs

So it's one more fall
I get to see come around
Watching for signs and answers
Some days are old and tired
But some midnight I might
just come 'round.

I talk to the spirits inside me
Sometimes I watch for their signs
Still more questions than answers
But minutes at a time can be divine



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buckman
Firefly

USA
2784 Posts

Posted - 08/13/2019 :  18:57:34  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply


I sit in the dark of this saloon
Trapped here by my
Own unflagging sense of duty.

My work begins at midnight when
The cowboys step into that next level
Of drunkenness and the dance-hall girls
Stop charging and dance
The way they want to.

Not a sheriff or a marshal or
Even a deputy but everybody knows
Who rules the hours in this dusty town
From Midnight 'til dawn.

So go to sleep, my children...
I'll be here.
Watching.
Making sure that the sin and the sinners
Stay here where they belong
And leave you alone.

The whiskey is just to keep me going.
There is no pleasure for me in it
Anymore.
The times are long gone when a bottle
Or a woman could bring me any amount of
Joy...

Now it is just a matter of
Breathing in the sorrow and
Watching and
Listening and
Waiting.

I'm making a list....



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Ailinn
Windchimer

2073 Posts

Posted - 08/13/2019 :  21:18:52  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Fog-damp night in a village of alleyways and filigree gates. A hush beyond the window. In firelight he tells the story. His shirt on the chair back. His mouth of invention. His gaze through a curtain of smoke. There's the cameo town in amber. The bandstand gazebo. The four-sided clock tower. The bench where they rest in the halcyon then. Quilt on the line. Milk delivery on the porch. Overgrown geranium boxes. The high dresser's cracked mirror doors. Blue hobnail vase in the window. "Save everything..." he says. "Save it all..."
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2784 Posts

Posted - 08/17/2019 :  07:46:26  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
There was never a good time to tell her,
I had too little heart left to share.
I'd lost it on the road one night,
Some days I still almost cared.
Though what's been lost and what's been gained
Still screams my name at night,
The morning's not so far away,
Keep dancing toward the light."



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Ailinn
Windchimer

2073 Posts

Posted - 08/17/2019 :  17:41:29  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
It's not commerce they cross for. It's the ephemeral room over the cantina. They can't recall the night they stumbled upon it. The niche alley. The scent of burning orange peel in the narrow stairway. Two dark flights before they enter the cavernous room. Steep windows overlooking the avenue. Neon wash across high ceilings and walls. An altar-like work surface covered with paint-smeared drop cloths. Long plank benches where indistinct figures appear but do not nod or speak. They wait in silence for the scenes to be revealed. The neon suddenly softens scattering stars. A lightning-striped storm. Toys and musical instruments in a whirling tornado. Landscapes breaking apart and haphazardly fusing together. (The room is so loud now they cover their ears.) A bridge of gold water floats overhead. Frayed blue flowers drift down. Blue trees. A silhouette of a man and a woman through an immense black keyhole. Hand in hand. Far away.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2073 Posts

Posted - 08/19/2019 :  18:14:17  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The artist's name was Mateo. Or Miguel. He called his work Armonía. He only appeared after midnight. He painted images in and out of this world. He painted very quickly and then moved on. One of Revolucion's inscrutable nomads.

Edited by - Ailinn on 08/19/2019 22:09:44
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2784 Posts

Posted - 08/20/2019 :  11:55:21  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
She asked me why I ran away.
I said, Because I couldn’t fly...



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Ailinn
Windchimer

2073 Posts

Posted - 08/22/2019 :  17:35:47  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The paper he touches before she does. Kids on ponies. Men in big hats. Women with legs in skirts. Car salesmen leaning on Chevy hoods. Humid nights on the lot. Wire pens on the outskirts of town. "The storm comin' down for the hit..." his shoulders shrug under his black shirt. "Sun-up in the east. Down in the west. Seas washin' over the bows. You wanna do this...?" he says. No props in his story. Hands folded in her lap.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2073 Posts

Posted - 08/22/2019 :  17:43:59  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"Not snow, but cold. Off-season," she says. "A lawn that slopes to a seawall. Past life on the dock. Ferry chugging toward Boston. Halo lights of the Tea Party Harbor. Fog horns and buoy bells. History asleep in its wheelchair. Ash Wednesday's almighty message." His silence. His unblinking stare. "Even then the trains ran north and south..." she says, "...a promise."
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2784 Posts

Posted - 08/24/2019 :  14:45:17  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply


Darlin, I can't make excuses
For the kind of man I've been.
I've paid so many pipers
for so many deadly sins.
I'm not here making promises
Or trying to change your mind.
Just an old man chasing memories
Before the whiskey makes me blind.

[The girl shouldnta danced like that
There oughtta be a law.
She sent me to the floor of Hell
And I bounced back up for more.]

I never heard your crying
In the middle of the night.
I was busy burning bridges
And making up new lies.
The preacher says you lose your soul
When you sniff the devil's breath
The night's couldn't come fast enough
Until the day you left.

[She shimmies and she shakes that thing
Turns a good man over to wild
I still see that red dress in my dreams
Sometimes I even smile.]

We never had the money
But, baby, we had a time,
Golden Gate Park was hot that day
You were my first song that rhymed.
Those magical days of nineteen
Turned to forty overnight
Things get lost along the road
You can never make them right.

The girl shouldnta danced like that
There oughtta be a law.
She sent me to the floor of Hell
And I bounced back up for more.]

[She shimmies and she shakes that thing
Turns a good man over to wild
I still see that red dress in my dreams
Sometimes I even smile.]

The girl shouldnta danced like that
There oughtta be a law.
She sent me to the floor of Hell
And I bounced back up for more.]



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Ailinn
Windchimer

2073 Posts

Posted - 08/24/2019 :  17:51:44  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"...but that's jus' the way of it..." he says, "...go on..." "You know the story," she says. He doesn't say anything.. "Sassy for Coca-Cola," she shrugs. "Wholesome for General Mills. Ted was my favorite photographer. A manic genius who imported State Line Potato Chips. Drank cases of Mateus Rose. Kept a fishbowl full of candy bars and peanut butter crackers. Had a pampered cat named Tiger and a mother in Queens he adored. In between takes I'd sit shivering in underwear and a barber's cape. He'd toss Tiger's blanket in my lap. When he said 'shut your eyes,' I shut them. Let him blow phony snow in my face. 'Cheekbones,kid!' he'd shout. 'Haute couture!'"

He stands and holds his hands over the fire pit. Moonlight shining his shoulders. Kokopelli guarding the yard. "Write me a letter," he says. "Write every day." Dear Sir... she writes. Rainy Wind Font.

Edited by - Ailinn on 09/04/2019 17:23:31
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2784 Posts

Posted - 08/26/2019 :  11:54:35  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
They stopped at the river.
She knew it was where I hid the moon...

The horse skittered, she danced,
Oh, how Carmelita loved when a horse danced.
And
She loved when she found one of my secret places.

So many places still to find,,,,
She has yet to find where I hid the sun...



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buckman
Firefly

USA
2784 Posts

Posted - 08/28/2019 :  11:22:59  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Jesse Matthew Beukema
Jan 24,1974 - Aug 28, 1992
The best of days and the worst of days.

I dream of you so much
it's like you're still here.
Space inside, partly died,
left on the road with you.

Our buddy,
Our music man.

So much left to teach you and
learn from you.
What a man you would have been!

We miss you our angel...



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